Writing Something For Someone? Poem by Denis Martindale

Everything depends upon the relationship,
Real or hoped-for.
Seeking to be honest with yourself,
As well as the other person...
That remains the battle of what you should write
And what you should not write.

For the theme itself, romantic or not,
There are common experiences to draw upon,
Perhaps some shared meeting,
Perhaps some hoped-for rendezvous...

There may be lessons to explore,
Advice to impart tenderly,
Or just honesty being the best policy,
Then running away to hide from the backlash...

The choices remain yours,
The results are a joint affair,
A co-existing blessing or an on-going feud...
So be careful when expressing feelings,
They may not always bring forth joy,
They may make things far worse,
Perhaps beyond your repair...

So ask yourself this question,
Do you dare put that something into writing
And then hand that over to that significant other?
That person may hold on to that page with hope,
Perhaps with a growing calm, a tranquil peace,
Serenity blossoming like the rose,
But, if not, then at least you learnt something,
Something that could burden you and sadden you...

For what is worse than expressing true love
And receiving true hatred in return?
Or suggesting something you think wonderful,
Yet seeing a response that chills you to the bone?
Be careful, you owe that to yourself,
The other person has heights and depths
And you cannot know them all...

Look for signs of friendship, respect,
Look for signs of tedium or isolation,
Look for signs of twinkling eyes,
Laughter lines, blushing cheeks,
Or a trembling lower lip or emerging tear drops...

Because you were not meant to play the fool,
Or the harsh critic of another's heart...
How would you feel if not ready for love,
For courtship, for marriage, for children?
How would you feel if being scolded or rebuked?
How would you feel to be so little thought of?

Perhaps you need to be a little more wise than now,
When the thoughts rush towards the blank page,
Not even edited for correcting errors,
Not even improved by finer language,
Not even prayed over before being handed over...

For some hearts are tender,
Defended by strong shields,
Or minds so fastly set as not to change,
Not accepting of a critic's words...
Even when set in rhythms and rhymes...

I know that burden of a poem shared in haste,
Though wondrous and beautiful in style,
The outcome was as cold as ice...
As chilling as a gothic film could ever be...

I would that I could undo such days,
When hopes and dreams stole my senses,
When well-meaning ideas got crushed underfoot,
When love was offered and rejected...
If only I could have known their outcomes,
I would have thrown pen and paper into the flaming fire,
Watched them burn, fade away, fade away, fade away...

I would perhaps be the better now,
But the lessons remain intact,
Like signposts of my failures,
Like reminders of dismissed discretion,
Like heartaches I must carry to the end of days...

Words slip from each lip like honey,
But words on a page have no such excuse,
They could be changed for better words...
Yet who can say they know the perfect words?

And because that is true,
I can choose to forgive myself,
Even if others refuse me that mercy...
At least I know that God forgives...
Perhaps that is enough, I hope so...
For if God can forgive me,
Then God can forgive you...


Denis Martindale, February 2016.